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First thing he registered was the pain.
His throat burned, as if he refused to swallow a particularly strong liquor, while also being painfully dry. He needed to cough, yet the reflex to do so didn’t come to him.
He barely heard his own stifled moan of pain among the awfully loud noise around. If road traffic consisted of rats, hearts and blood, he would believe that he woke up in the middle of a road. But the rhythmic thumping of a heartbeat (or heartbeats?) in his ears completely overshadowed everything else. It was unbearable.
Opening his eyes was a workout. Aventurine was trained to fight vampires, he used to stay up for days, hunting. He had taken down nests by himself. Yet now, opening his eyes felt more taxing than all of that.
The pain didn't spare his eyes. They stung the moment a tiny bit of light reached them, and the blonde was forced to immediately close them again. Only after blinking aggressively for a minute or so did he get used to the blurry vision in the dim light.
The urge to rub his eyes was abruptly stopped by metal clanking around his wrist. He had to twist his sore back to look behind him, and catch a glimpse of chains around his wrists, tightly holding them close to the floor.
Right. The floor. It was freezing, to the point where he was scared that his clothes would get stuck to it. One tug on the chains made him realize that it didn't matter — he was not going anywhere. Not chained, and not in so much pain. Where was he anyways?
The dim light came from the gap between the door and the floor, uncharachteristcially big, yet not big enough for him to fit in it. He could see it reflect from the tiled grey floor, and then the faint image of the door itself, along with a stone wall. Unfortunately, this amount of light wasn’t enough to assess where he was… Or maybe it was the throbbing in his head hindering his perception.
It felt like long hours had passed until Aventurine finally heard something louder than his own blood flowing in his veins. A spark of hope appeared in his chest for merely a second, and then the reality of his situation hit him — he's being held in captivity. There was no hope for getting out.
“Now… how are we feeling, spawn?” The melodic voice echoed through the dark room. A soft click, and then Aventurine flinched, sudden sharp light of a single lightbulb piercing his retinas before he could close his eyes. Upon opening them again, he winced in disgust.
The light bouncing off Sunday's skin was almost blinding, making him look as if he was radiating. The smug smile under those striking gold eyes pierced through the blonde, causing a shiver to go through his whole body. But none of his physical features could help the horror of his presence. Despite his experience the hunter felt terror growing in his chest, rendering him completely unable to move.
The vampire walked up slowly. His footsteps were inaudible, despite Aventurine now being able to hear even rats rattling around. Even his own rushing heartbeat was louder than Sunday's breath. That fact made the vampire more terrifying than before, if that were possible in the first place.
“What…” The blonde winced in pain again, his voice coming out hoarse. He'd kill for a drop of water, at the very least, anything to aid the pain in his throat.
“Aww…” Sunday snickered as he walked up close enough to lean over the slumped silhouette of the blonde. He reached out, gloved fingers brushing against the other's chin to make him look up. The look on his face made Aventurine want to throw up.
Aventurine could be grateful to not have to see himself at the moment. His eyes were bloodshot, his face drenched in sweat, so hot that Sunday could feel the heat through his gloves. The blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, his skin looking almost as pale. Needless to say, he wasn’t the epitome of health.
“My poor little spawn seems to be in pain, hmm?” Sunday's voice was clearly mocking and so, so aggravating. Unable to speak, Aventurine just glared at the vampire, watching his slow movements as he raised his other hand, something he could quite make out hanging from it.
“Now now, my dear. I know it hurts. This will help.” The way the vampire’s voice sounded like he was speaking to his child disgusted Aventurine. He couldn’t stop the grimace from forming on his face, yet the desperation for something to drink proved to be much stronger. His throat felt as if it was on fire, burning his insides. Maybe he was made to swallow gasoline? At this point he’d believe anything.
Sunday hummed as his hands made a rotating movement, as he opened some kind of weird, plastic bag. His shadow, now that he stood right in front of Aventurine, made recognising the contents of the bag nearly impossible. The fake priest brought the opening to Aventurine’s lips, and before he could’ve recognized the smell of human blood some contents were already going down his throat. Only after a few seconds did he start violently coughing, vitality coming back to his body in some part. Yet he couldn’t spit all of it out.
“What the- What the fuck -” curses fell from the blonde’s bloodstained lips, and he tugged on the chains behind him with newfound strength, yet still not enough to free himself. His vision, suddenly clear, allowed him to look at the vampire’s face with horror, his body still convulsing with the urge to rid of all the blood he unknowingly consumed. To no avail.
“Now, my cute spawn. I think this one wasn’t so bad, hmm? I searched for someone sweet specifically for you, I’m sorry if it’s not to your tastes~” Sunday kneeled on one knee in front of the hunter, his white glove staining red when he used his thumb to wipe Aventurine’s lips off the blood. Keeping him in place like this, he brought the bag closer again, but this time the blonde yanked his head away.
“What the fuck are you doing- What the fuck” Aventurine could feel his head spinning, but what’s worse, the pain across his body suddenly dulled. It didn’t disappear completely, but maybe, maybe, it was now much more bearable. And it terrified him.
“Oh, but I’m feeding you, silly.” Sunday shook his head with a pitiful smile on his face, before standing up. He set the bag half-filled with blood on a metal table that Aventurine only now could see, and turned back to the hunter, hum on his lips. “I know how it is to be a young vampire, my dear hunter. It’s not easy to break the ice and take the first sips by yourself, so I took the courtesy of-”
“A YOUNG-” The shout Aventurine let out was gutteral, and he thought he was going to faint. A vam- a vampire. That’s what he said. A young vampire .
Aventurine’s story of how he became a hunter was in no way original, not even rare. As a teenager, he went through the traumatizing experience of finding his house completely empty after coming back from a school trip. The only clue of their horrifying deaths was the blood, splattered around the whole house. The vampire duo responsible for it didn’t mind wasting some of their feed just for the dramatic effect.
The body of Aventurine’s mother was found first, barely a day after he reported his family missing - abandoned nearby, in a dumpster, it was completely drained, the only blood found on her was on her clothes, dried up and impossible to drink.
His father was second. His body, cut up in numerous ways, tortured till his last breath, was discovered in an abandoned nest, a few kilometers from Aventurine’s house a week after the report. Forced to identify the body, the poor boy vomitted for at least a few hours. The sight of the wounds he demanded to see would stay engraved in his mind forever; maybe he should’ve listened when the pathologist advised to only check the face.
If the Hunting Association was better funded, maybe if it had more actual hunters instead of half-assed interns (as Aventurine called them), maybe they’d be able to find his sister before it was too late. The vampire nest, consisting of at least five and at most twenty vampires, was moving from place to place for six weeks before they were caught up to. By that time Aventurine’s sister, a woman in her early twenties, was completely exhausted of her blood. She was found dead; the autopsy deduced that she was held captive as an IV bag for over a month, feeding the whole nest. She held no other value to them - just food.
Was there a fate worse than that? Before, Aventurine would answer: no.
But not anymore.
“ Do not touch me- ” Aventurine curled up, pressing himself to the wall as much as possible, even if he knew that it would not help him at all.
No matter how many times Sunday came down to the cold, lifeless room, no matter how hungry Aventurine was, he refused. Each time, he got the chance to drink from the bag, the smell of blood getting more tempting each time. His head was spinning from hunger, the throbbing earlier alleviated by the human blood coming back stronger each hour. Surprisingly, the hunger did not come from his stomach - he didn’t crave food. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t need toilet. He just needed blood.
“You’re so stubborn, my little.” Sunday shook his head in pitiful disapproval - he did that everytimed he was met with rejection, yet after giving the blood to Aventurine the first time, he didn’t seem in rush. According to his own words, “feeding one time is enough to seal the transformation. It cannot be undone. You cannot starve either… And I can wait until you’re in pain so strong that you’ll give in.”
And so he was waiting.
For at least a few days Aventurine was fine. All of the pain was dulled, enough for him to attempt escape. Unfortunately for him, Sunday knew exactly how to deal with hunters. When the blonde was unconscious, he rid him of everything that could aid his escape, of every weapon, lockpick, whatever else he could find. He knew how to chain him up so that he wouldn’t free himself, no matter how much force he’d use. After all, the vampire mentioned holding Veritas captive as well. And he was much stronger.
Once the reality of futile escape was accepted, Aventurine was overwhelmed with despair. Before this hunt, his objective was to kill the vampire, and then find his colleagues. Now, he was sure - both Topaz and Veritas were dead. Proof? Blood in the room he was in. The signs of struggle on the floor. The bloody tools on the metal table. The three jars filled with blood.
Aventurine sobbed for hours. He couldn’t even begin to think about his own predicament, knowing the torture his friends went through. They were supposed to be trained. They were supposed to kill Sunday, they were supposed to protect others from him. And they both perished, just like his family. They both left him just like that, without any care about what he thought about that. He didn’t allow them to die. They weren’t allowed to die.
It took him days to focus on himself. The hunger came back thrice as strong, growing from dull to debilitating. At some point he was unable to sit up straight. Then he was forced to shut his eyes tightly, and then he was whimpering in pain. Yet every time Sunday came back, offering him a new dose of blood, he refused. He watched as the vampire fed in front of him, blood spilling, running down his neck. He could feel the sharp fangs of his own irritating his tongue, ready to bite into the bag. Or the neck. Whatever would satiate his hunger.
It took weeks until Aventurine gave in. Not as many as he’d hoped, as his pride as a vampire hunter allowed, but more than the vampire that held him in captivity expected. The last few days of his restraint were extremely painful, to the point where he couldn’t sit up straight even with Sunday’s nudging, and his face was drenched in tears. When he finally accepted the blood (a bit less sweet than the first time. Sunday described it as bitter like coffee. To Aventurine’s horror, he could taste it.), he drank the whole bag in one go, without taking even a second to take a breath.
The immediate aftermath of that decision was strong: his body trembled, so much so he was scared that he was actually dying, the only thing proving him otherwise was the calm, yet scrutinizing look of the vampire before him. Sunday sat back once the bag of blood was emptied out, observing Aventurine’s reaction, making no move to help him. Once the trembling subsided significantly, the blonde sat back against the cold wall, his breath heavy as he tried not to throw up with the knowledge that he just downed a full bag of human blood. Regardless of how much the bag was holding. He didn’t want to think about it.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Sunday’s soft voice broke the silence once Aventurine’s breath steadied. The blonde’s eyes were closed, his body limp against the wall, a streak of blood running from his lips down his neck, disappearing under sweat drenched black shirt. “The consistency might not be pleasant at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
“You’ll have to, unless you want to feel that pain again. ”